


Whoever feeds you is your god

by gesugao



Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Blood and Gore, Brainwashing, Cannibalism, M/M, Master/Pet, Psychological Trauma, Self-Harm, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-06-05 18:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gesugao/pseuds/gesugao
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tatara is good with dogs of all types. Even ones like Seidou.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whoever feeds you is your god

**Author's Note:**

> tatara brainwashes seidou into loving him. hope you enjoy the filth.

“He's yours,” Eto said, and Tatara turned his gaze from the window to her. She continued, “well, not permanently. But you're good with dogs, aren't you?” She laughed and followed his eyes back to the window facing into the sterile, white room.

“I don't want him,” Tatara said, and that was mostly the truth. A skinny little scared thing, cried a lot, not even worth the effort. The thought of playing with Houji's partner had crossed his mind once or twice, but…

Eto moved a lock of hair from her face and cast her eyes downward, still smiling. “Consider it a favor, then. Kill some time for us. I'm sure you can find _some_ use for him.”

...the thing belonged to Dr. Kanou, and Tatara didn't like being forced to play nice.

A sigh. “Of course.”

\-------------------------

 

Seidou seized on the gurney as soon as the door opened and Tatara entered. He yanked against the restraints, eyes rolling around in his head like a mad dog. It had only been a few days since his surgery and was already looking haggard; hair a mess, clammy, pale, but still too human.

Tatara stood by the side of the gurney and just watched him patiently, like a specimen under a microscope. Seidou met his eyes and Tatara recalled the exact same look not too long ago, right after the boy lost his arm and realized no one would come to help him. Fear, of course, but also something a little more primal, archaic, almost palpable.

Despair.

Eyes wet and wide, hair clinging to his forehead, he looked pathetic and Tatara wanted to hit him right there. But he only took out one hand and laid it gently on Seidou's stomach, a touch that caused Seidou's torso to twitch, but he didn't try to wriggle away.

“Where am I?” Seidou asked, broken by a sudden sob. Tatara's eyes stayed on his hand, on the hot and quivering skin underneath.

“Of all the questions to ask,” he droned. “Does it really matter?”

Seidou looked at him for a moment, waiting for an answer, then yanked his head to the side to look at his arm. And again that look of despair crossed his face. “Why am I alive?”

“That's a more interesting question,” Tatara said and ghosted his fingers over Seidou's torso, over his ribcage and down to his navel. Seidou shivered and looked disgusted, more at himself than the touch. At that moment he must have known that there was only one way he was alive and there, laying on a metal table in a white tiled room. The only reason why he could smell the layer of blood under the stench of bleach, shadows of people who had laid right where he lay, and had fared much worse.

“Well, it's a question I can't answer.”

Seidou's breath picked up and he closed his eyes and grit his teeth, waiting for Tatara to plunge his hand inside of him. But it didn't. Rather, it moved up to his chest and rested there, feeling for his heartbeat. Absolutely frantic. Seidou swallowed hard and dared to open an eye. For the first time, Tatara looked at him square in it.

Seidou didn't know what he saw.

The hand came off his chest and Tatara turned his head back towards the door. “Maybe it's a question for God.” A clank of metal rang through the room as Seidou pulled again at his restraints and let out a strangled cry, but Tatara was already walking back towards the door.

Eto was right, in a way. He was good with dogs, of all types. Even ones like Seidou.

He knew that you couldn't raise a good attack dog to fear you.

You have to make it love you, so much that it would die for you.

\-------------------------

 

Tatara didn't return for a few more days. How many, Seidou had no clue. There were no windows in the room that showed the outside, only the small one that showed the dimly lit hallway beyond the door. He did know that every hour felt like an eternity, and with each passing one, his body found a new way to remind him.

He thought he had understood a ghoul's hunger. After all, every creature has to eat.

But it was nothing like this.

It felt like the new ghoul organs were trying to eat their way out of him, consume the weaker parts of him until there was nothing human left behind. Twisting, gnawing, deep and visceral pain consumed him. His only reprieve was when his mind wandered, but it all too often wandered to images of flesh and blood. Slabs of it, rivers of it, the thought made him want to vomit but his body protested.

Disgusting— _but I want it._ I don't want it— _right, I need it._ This isn't happening— _I've never been so fucking hungry in my entire fucking life—_

The door opened and Tatara entered. Seidou's head snapped up and he writhed on the gurney. This time, not in fear, not in an effort to escape, but out of desperation. Tatara _reeked_ of blood, even though there was not a speck on him, and the monster inside of him wanted a taste. The ghoul came to his side again, cold as ever behind his mask.

“You look hungry,” he said after a quiet moment. Seidou's head fell back onto the gurney.

“No,” he lied. “I'm not like you.” Another lie, mostly to himself.

“Ah,” Tatara nodded. He raised his arm and placed his bare hand, palm up, on Seidou's cheek. Seidou turned away but it was no use, the stench of blood reached his nose before he even had a chance to think about it. Every sense was flooded, he saw red, felt his skin prickle up at the prospect of _food._ Against his own will, Seidou's head turned and he snapped at Tatara's hand.

Of course, Tatara was faster and pulled it away. Now Seidou wore a face that Tatara hadn't seen before, one that almost made him smile.

Rage.

“None of that,” Tatara scolded, and a splash of blood hit the white tiled floor. Seidou looked down the gurney to see it everywhere now, over his torso, chest, legs, pouring out of the hole in his stomach. Tatara's kagune leered above the wound, slick and dripping, before retreating back into its owner as quickly as it had emerged.

Seidou screamed, paralyzed and stiff on the gurney. It faded into a guttural moan as blood bubbled over his lips, and he gasped for breath.

“You are a ghoul,” Tatara said and turned away, leaving Seidou twitching and gasping behind him. “It will heal. Eventually.”

 

\-------------------------

 

Seconds into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, or had it only been one? Seidou tried to count them, but the pattern of the white tile began to close in on him and numbers only reminded him of the pain. He remembered a few things. Ghouls that weren't Tatara came in and cleaned up the blood, removed him from the gurney and set him upright in a chair when he was too weak to protest. He remembered accepting that if he just didn't eat he would surely starve to death and that would be that.

He remembered what hunger was like as a human. After a while, it dulls, and you forget about it. But now...

_I don't care who it is, I need it, I need it—_

I'd rather die.

_I'll do anything. I swear to God I'd to anything to—_

Please let me die.

_Flesh, blood, meat, food, food, food, it's just food—_

Suddenly Tatara is there, and Seidou realized he didn't know how long he'd been there, or how long he'd been muttering to himself. Wearily, he looked up at him, and hoped that he disappointed Tatara enough for the ghoul to kill him.

Wordlessly, Tatara held something out. Seidou's head bobbed, weak on his shoulders, to look at it. It was a blur, but his whole body reacted.

_Ah, Mom, I really like this dish!_

He gnashed his teeth and tried to grab it, but Tatara pulled it away.

“What have you done to deserve this?” He asked. Seidou clenched his fingers around the arms of the chair, the only thing he could get a grip on, and lowers his head, biting at his lip until it bled.

“Why are you asking me that?” He sobbed. “W-what am I supposed to do? What do you want from me?” Another sob. “D-do you...want to know about Houji? Is that it?”

“Would you even tell me if I asked?”

A little piece of Seidou fought back. Cheeks stained with tears, body shaking with the cold of the room, desperation and hunger, he looked up. “Of course not...n-never.”

His hand went over his mouth in a flash. Seidou almost choked as the flesh filled his mouth and he chewed, hard and fast, even as he felt blood slide down his throat, the taste of sinew and skin on his tongue. He gagged, but Tatara held his hand firm over his mouth.

_This isn't real—this can't possibly be--_

_It's lychee. Sweet, slippery, fleshy lychee. Juicy and bursting._

Seidou swallowed, too fast, and Tatara took his hand away. Seidou licked his lips, panting, and looked up. “M-more,” he begged. “More...please...” _it was the most amazing thing I've ever tasted, better than any lychee...better than any dish Mom ever—_

Tatara raised an eyebrow. “Takizawa,” he said, coolly. “Before, when we first met, I saw that fear ruled you. Now, I can see that hunger rules you." His eyelids drooped a little. "Your little defiant face was nice. How quickly you turn to begging. I'm disappointed." Seidou stared at him in disbelief, quivering and shaking and for the first time, Tatara saw the potential that perhaps everyone else did. That last word had awoken something in him.

Still, a dog needs to be reminded of what they are.

 

\-------------------------

  _Amon._

“Not coming.”

_M-Mado._

Another stab. “Not coming.”

_Houji._

Tatara stopped to wipe a blood spatter from his cheek. “He already forgot about you.”

_Mom...Dad…_

Tatara was silent.

 

\-------------------------

_Takoyaki!_

_Curry and rice!_

_Mochi ice cream! Creamy, chewy._

_Jam, red._

_Bean paste, red._

Seidou ate, and ate. He saw flashes of movement in his vision, but he knew that his food wouldn't escape. He was hunched over, kneeling in a corner, the first time he had been out of his restraints in—how long? At least a week, a week since Tatara had given him his first taste (Seidou had counted the hours this time), plus whatever time had happened before that. But...before that moment didn't seem to matter. Before this moment didn't seem to matter.

_Slippery, like a strawberry popsicle._

This moment, clawing at fist fulls of flesh, searching for the softest parts deep inside, hardly stopping to chew. Everything tasted _so good_ , he didn't know food could taste like this. Screams echoed in the room he began to know as his world, every tile etched into his mind. The screams called out to him, _his name,_ desperately, over and over again. Seidou heard them, of course, but they sounded so distant now. Miles away, lifetimes away. In another time he may have recognized the voice, but now it just sounded like the wail of an animal taken to slaughter.

He felt a small part inside of him grow hot, a little excited, at the sound of screaming. At the look of terror. At the scrambling, running, at the sound of their blood rushing through them. That ugly little part of himself, the one he was currently feeding.

He had never been feared or respected before, no one had ever taken him seriously enough for that. Even though he had done his best, even though he tried to be _just good enough—_

He wondered, briefly, if he was good enough now.

His hand slid through like butter. There was no resistance at all. He grabbed and yanked, and the screaming stopped.

Vocal chords. _Stringy, like cellophane noodles._

Tatara watched from the other side of the window. He made sure Seidou knew who had fed him.

 

\-------------------------

 

The dog needed more rigorous training. Seidou had become melancholy, almost catatonic, and the only thing that seemed to snap him out of it was pain. It kept him out of his memories and into the present moment. Tatara always used his kagune, never got his hands dirty. Slicing, stabbing, flaying, breaking, almost enough to leave him on death's door but with enough life left to get the dog through until the next feeding.

As weeks passed, Seidou screamed less. Cried less. Seized up in fear less. He sat through the pain knowing there would be food afterwards, eventually, and that made life worth living, even for just another minute or just another hour or however long Tatara was away and Seidou was alone. Racked with pain, covered in blood and open wounds, that must have been the reason they eventually undid his restraints altogether. He could reach his own limbs. It kept his mind on food, any kind, any way he could get it. Everything else became numb.

Memories.

Fears.

Guilt.

Tatara was the only ghoul who ever showed up, and Seidou was never sure if he was bringing pain or food with him. It became a gamble. He _wanted_ food more than anything, but once he ate, the monster was sated and lazy inside of him and it quieted down. It left him not as a hungry ghoul, but just as Seidou.

And that's when the memories threatened to creep back in.

He found himself quietly hoping that Tatara would hurt him especially deep today. Pierce his stomach and pull his organs out, break every bone in his legs, pluck his eyes from his sockets, anything that would consume him. Anything that would keep his monster loud and hungry and suffering, to drown out the faces that swam in his vision whenever he dared to sleep.

Tatara ran a hand through Seidou's hair and found a streak of white. The boy was looking pale, shakey, twitchy, but didn't shy away from his touch. Quite the opposite, he pushed his head up into Tatara's hand, shivering and clutching at the rags on his body. His wounds had slowly healed, but he was weak today. He gave into the demands of his monster.

“Food...please...” Seidou whispered.

Tatara stared at him. The training was paying off. Seidou had learned that only the kagune will cause pain. That hands feed and comfort. Seidou stared back, wide eyed, then craned his head up and pressed his cheek into Tatara's palm. Tatara thought he looked an awful lot like a puppy whose owner had missed meal time, and was trying to understand what it did wrong.

“No food today,” Tatara said bluntly. Seidou's eyes darted around the room, trying to figure out what was coming next. Tatara usually made it clear when he was going to hurt him. He didn't take his time, didn't tease him. Seidou grabbed onto Tatara's wrist with both hands and turned his head until his lips were on his palm. Firm, fleshy, warm skin. He was so hungry, but for more than food, and Tatara was the only one who touched him.

“Then why are you here?” He asked, voice breaking. “If...if you're going to hurt me, then hurt me.”

“Takizawa,” Tatara said. “There are others like you. I'm sure you remember one from when you were an investigator.”

_Who cares about that anymore?_

“But, you need to be the best.”

_The best?_

“I-I'm not...” Seidou began, and pulled himself away from Tatara. That word triggered too many memories, reminded him of too much. He scrambled away, into a corner, hunched over himself. “I'm not—”

Tatara followed him. “Not yet. But you could be.” Seidou wasn't looking at him, he was staring off into another lifetime. _Tests, grades, scores,_ a cold woman and an impudent boy, obstacles in his way. _I hope one day I can be as good as Amon-san—_

_Amon…_

_Amon, fighting a ghoul, he's there and he sees him, he knows he can protect him, he knows he should run but he can't—_

_You didn't protect him anyway. You failed and look where you are now._

_That's why no one's coming for you, that's why Mado always gave you that look—_

_Amon, Mado, shit, these names._

_Shit, shit, SHIT, SHIT—_

Tatara grabbed Seidou by the shoulders and yanked him forward, forcing Seidou to face him. Seidou looked startled, small, the exact same face Tatara remembered on him from so many nights ago. A very human expression, and for a moment Tatara is worried he undid months of training.

“Tatara,” Seidou said suddenly, and Tatara found himself a little surprised. “I-I want to be the best.”

_Never good enough...for anyone. Never good enough for Houji...I was always a burden. I could never be as good as Amon, never reach Mado's level...always second best...never a priority, always an option. No one ever saw anything in me.  
_

_But...Tatara...Tatara-san…what did he see?  
_

_Enough...to feed me. Enough...to touch me..._

“For you,” Seidou finished, voice breathy and thick, cheeks a little flushed. Tatara tried to make sense of this, then slowly stood up.

“Then do it,” he said, and left.

For a moment, he forgot that he hated him.

\-------------------------

 

There was pain, there was hunger, and now there was loneliness. Tatara had not been back for a very long time, no one had. The blood and flesh were beginning to accumulate around him, the only faces he saw were the ones of corpses, until he had eaten those as well.

Food was shoved into the room unceremoniously, once every week or so (Seidou was counting, of course). But it was no longer a pleasure to eat. This food, Seidou had to work for. This food fought back. Not that there was much to do. Nowhere to run or hide, and Seidou quickly became used to using his kagune. At first the food was able to cut him, or stab him, but as time went on, they were hardly stronger than humans in his eyes.

But the array of flavors, morsels, delicious banquets of tastes were replaced with garbage. Rotting fruit, slimy vegetables, spoiled meat. The smell and taste were vile but even as his stomach turned in protest, he continued to eat.

He had to eat.

Seidou missed the pain. At least with the pain he was able to have a good meal at the end of it, but now there was no reprieve in sight. There was nothing to look forward to besides the small thrill of getting to slaughter his food.

But he knew it was making him stronger, he knew it was making him better.

_Best._

_For you._

That was the only reason he continued to eat.

But eventually, Seidou became bad at counting. Days and nights blended together like the slurry of blood and flesh that littered the room. He was becoming claustrophobic. He shattered the tile with his kagune and clawed at the concrete underneath, but he only broke his nails. The pain felt good, it felt familiar. His head hurt all the time now.

And with every rush of power he got before a meal, a rush of memories followed. Memories that he thought were gone. Faces of people mixed with pictures of food, screams—his own or someone else's? That nasty feeling called guilt that clawed inside of him, a feeling that cut deeper than any kagune, it hurt more than weeks of torture. _Things_ were coming out of him, pouring out of him, and he was desperate to push them back inside.

_No more, no more, I don't want to remember that…_

_Go away, go away, go back inside, GO AWAY—_

_Ah, Mom, I really like this dish!_

He screamed, to hear something. He bashed his head into the bare concrete, to feel something.

_Pain means here, pain means right now, not then, not before…_

He ate, to silence the incessant chatter. And when there was no more to eat, he gnawed at himself so he wouldn't forget what he was.

_Only weak people remember._

_Monsters don't dwell on feelings._

He held himself as he slept, to remind him of a touch.

 

\------------------------- 

 

Food?

Pavlov would be proud. The creaking metal of a door opening immediately caused the blades of his kagune to poke out from under the skin of his back. It seemed too early, too soon for another meal (the pangs of hunger had not yet become unbearable; Seidou's only barometer), but he wasn't one to complain.

Food.

Seidou turned and saw a flash of white against the dark red splattered on the walls. A robe, a mask.

There wasn't silence anymore, there wasn't loneliness anymore. A face he had only ever seen half of—even if he had come to hurt him again, even if he had come without food—

“Tatara-san...”

Tatara closed the door behind him and walked into the room, stepping over body parts like it was nothing, like he had just visited yesterday. The dog was looking both worse and better. His hair was getting whiter, and stress was very evident on his face. Bug eyed, dark lipped, gaunt cheeked, but he didn't look as weak as he had before. Still skinny, still starved, but the hunger was more keen now. He had the eyes of a predator rather than prey.

Seidou stood there, opening and closing his hands, turning his head towards phantom sounds, stopping whenever his eyes wandered over Tatara. There was a silence between them, each waiting for the other to make a move. But Tatara knew that Seidou would wait patiently forever.

“You've been good,” he said, a fact. Not a trace of emotion in his voice. Seidou perked up, then looked away and let out a raspy laugh.

“There was nothing else to do,” he replied, voice bitter. “If you're going to turn me into a weapon, the least you could do is put me to use.”

_Ah,_ Tatara thought. The dog grew more powerful and now he says whatever he wants. That was funny. Tatara's kagune impaled his shoulder, and Seidou gasped and fell back against the wall. The kagune wriggled deeper into the concrete until it pinned him there.

“You're not being good anymore,” Tatara hissed, and Seidou's affect immediately changed. He grew rigid and his face fell to the puppy look that Tatara forgot he liked.

“I'm sorry,” Seidou sputtered, pressed up against the wall. The kagune twisted and he let out another gasp of pain, but his face was turning pink. His other shoulder was impaled and this time, Seidou cried out.

Not in pain.

“I'm sorry!” He repeated, writhing as much he could against the kagune. Tatara was close to his face, eyes cold and unmoving. Seidou looked into them and his face contorted. “I'm sorry—I did my best—I did everything right, I...” he looked about to cry but no tears came out, not even a bead of sweat, even as he bared his teeth, even as his words were broken up with moans of pain. “I thought...thought you were never coming back.”

Tatara tilted his head.

“I'll d-do better,” Seidou muttered. “I'll do better.”

Tatara withdrew his kagune and Seidou slid down the wall a bit before catching himself. He looked shameful, wouldn't meet Tatara's gaze because he didn't deserve it. He wanted him to go away, he wanted to be lonely again, for the ugly memories and feelings to come back so he could destroy them. He wanted food, he wanted it to scream and run and fight back, he wanted to eat and eat and eat until every hunger was sated, until he forgot that he _wanted_ Tatara to be here.

He didn't see Tatara remove his mask, or his hands move up to cradle Seidou's jaw. Seidou shuddered and felt his face grow hot.

_Fucked up. So fucked up how I—_

Seidou fell forward onto him, clutching at his robes. Tatara's hands moved to the back of his neck and pulled him in.

_Want him to touch me more than anything._

He felt lips on his. Softness against his scabbed ones. Warm hands on the back of his cold neck. Tatara was so big, he enveloped him. The pain melted away, the past melted away, there was no Seidou before or after, only the one that existed in the moment. He let go of Tatara's robes and snaked his hands around him, clutching at his back and pulling himself closer, as close as he could go, wanting Tatara to consume him.

Time stopped. Seidou knew peace for the first time in his life, or so it felt. What was life before the white tiled room? Had it even happened? Had Seidou ever been there?

_Who...is Seidou?_

 

\-------------------------

 

The dog was trained, and there was no more need for Tatara's intervention. They moved him to a new room, a darker one with bars and chains. He knew Seidou wouldn't like that, but it was out of his hands now. Eto had dogma to teach him. They got someone else to hurt him, to keep him in his place. To teach him to hate. Hinami had begun reading to him through the bars to ease his suffering.

Seidou got his wish eventually, they took him out to hunt bigger and bigger prey. Eto was pleased with Tatara's work, he had created a very fine attack dog.

Tatara visited. Rarely. The dog could never become complacent, comfortable with knowing he would be there. It had to be a guessing game, whether it would be food or pain, isolation or contact. Tatara or someone else.

Seidou usually lay with his back to the bars. Tatara opened them and stepped inside. He had a white haired dog now. He acted out less, did what he was told, and was very good at it. Tatara had heard that the doctor was happy with the results so far. Good.

The dog rolled over, and looked up.

_I hate him,_ Tatara had to remind himself, as Seidou reached up.

_I'm supposed to hate him,_ as he pulled Seidou up and into an embrace. So cold, so small. This pathetic creature, this mongrel, this lowly human. With a face like a puppy eager to please its master, it was disgusting.

Wasn't it supposed to be?

Tatara hated how his hands were gentler now. His touch explored more places. Over a protruding ribcage, a clavicle, the soft spot of the neck. He hated his own desire to see those eyes, eyes that would do anything for him. He hated everything about the past year.

He hated everything but Seidou.

“Ah, Tatara-san.”

 


End file.
